Misha's fingers caressed the stick, causing her belter courier to skim past another asteroid as it roared through Kapteyn's "rock garden" at an unnerving rate of speed. A Belter herself, Misha had been dodging space rocks since she was sixteen -- though even she had to admit that there was a whopping big difference between a grav bike and a a vac suit and an eight hundred fifty ton Suleiman S Class Scout/Courier. But quite a few years had passed since her grav bike adventures at sixteen. Now she was a colonel, and she was on a mission that had cost the Athenians dearly. And, she was late. She had to arrive at "The Arena" on Kapteyn in time for the evening's Cat Fights.

The asteroid belts protecting Kapteyn's Star was one of the biggest reasons Kapteyn had never been assimilated into the Empire. Or so everyone said. At one parsec from Fexao, an Imperial Subject in good standing, it was hard to fathom the fact that Kapteyn remained firmly in the hands of the lawless. Privately, Misha suspected politics had more to do with it than astography. PAC, through its corporate sponsors, had a vested interest in all resource rich systems in the Neutral Zone. And the pacifist Fex were unlikely to do anything about it, even though it was right on their doorstep.

With a graceful roll, the ship freed itself from the asteroid belt. The navigation computer gave her a course to Kapteyn, and on her data/display headset the "burn time" for the short warp jump to the planet's 100 diameter marker came up. There were times when you could "burn in" closer than 100 diameters, but Kapteyn wasn't one of those planets. It's outer solar system was made up of ring after ring of asteroid belts, and the same surrounded the planet itself. The perfect place to hide a Medraas fleet; virtually undetectable while inside the orbit of Kapteyn's many "exploded" moons.

That said, in all other ways Kapteyn was so close to Standard it should have been very wealthy. In fact, it was a very wealthy planet. The trouble was, being in the Neutral Zone, its rather mundane sort of wealth -- agriculture and ores -- was being exploited by the Medraas and no one else. Practically, that meant everyone on the planet who was not a Medraas was a slave of one sort or another; it was the Medraas that profited from the system's abundance, and no one else. Some of the resources they consumed themselves. The rest they either sold to other Medraas or corporate worlds and outposts under PAC control at outrageous margins. Inside the rather insular world of the Neutral Zone, that was just called "good business".

Misha hit the warp drive to begin her burn in. Normal space disappeared from her view screen to be replaced with the multicolored crawling lines of warp space. The the "waterfall" appeared showing every gravity well within reach of the ship's sensors. It was very busy and after a quick look see to make sure there were no other gravity wells pacing her, she relaxed.

Two hours three minutes and twenty four seconds later the computer shut down the warp drive. Misha had reached the 100 diameter perimeter of Kapteyn's gravity well. She was now officially on system approach.

Approaching Kapteyn from around its moon Bee. Note the asteroids at center right

The first communication was far from welcoming: "Approaching courier, state your business!"

Misha had been here before. "My business is buying and selling -- that is, if the Imperial Denarius is still welcome on Kapteyn." Not that there was a snowball's chance in Hell that the Empire's hard currency wouldn't be welcome. "Whatever other recreational activities I choose to engage in are none of your fucking business." In these parts, belligerence and violence, she'd learned, were types of diplomacy. Something the Consuls and their cronies could never seem to get through their thick heads.

"Suleiman S Class Courier, permission granted to land at Portman Space Port, docking bay 112," the officious Medraas bureaucrat replied.

"Right," Misha thought to herself. "Space Dump Portman, here I come -- in about five and three quarters hours."

Atmospheric burn in was no more than routine, and the ship's hull hadn't quit smoking before Misha was out the door and onto the street. headed for the Arena. The contrasts were striking. She stepped out of a starship to hail a horse drawn trap to take her to the event. And it had always seemed to her that the whole of the planet stank of either horse and cow shit or human sweat -- depending on where one was, of course. Either way, it didn't make Kapteyn a pleasant place to visit for the average individual. That missions had brought her here no less than 6 times in her career was rather depressing, actually.

On this planet the electric light was still something of a novelty, and the internal combustion engine was relegated to powering those lights and little else. The Medraas didn't want their slave population getting any ideas. The only pockets of modern technology to be found on the whole damned planet were in the facilities directly controlled and serviced by Black Skull, the Medraas gang that, for all intents and purposes, owned Kapteyn.

For Misha's part, what modern technology she chose to carry with her was as well hidden as her female features. She was supposed to be a Belter trader, not an Athenian. The former were as welcome as any PAC member; the latter would be killed on sight. The full gray robes of the locals served well for most of her costume, hiding her GAUS pistol, grav belt, communicator and med scanner. A respirator mask took care of her face and the comm dots she had tuned to the communicator, which in turn was tuned into the ship's systems. Gloves hid her long fingered female hands. Her other ace in the hole was warming up in the ship's air-raft bay.

By the time she arrived at the Arena "the main event", and the reason for her hasty arrival, was already under way. In the boxing style ring were two women, one fairly tall, dark haired, and lean, the other blond, shorter and curvy. They were both nude and unarmed, as was the tradition for Medraas cat fights. Misha supposed it was due to their twin loves of lust and blood. The two combatants had managed to bloody one another by the time she made her way to the front of the crowd. Gangs of armed Medraas and teaming crowds of eager peasants didn't make moving around easy. Cat fighting was the only entertainment open to most of Kapteyn's inhabitants. Perhaps due to the cultural influences of their masters, the serf/slaves seemed to enjoy the sight of two nude women tearing each others body's apart with their bare hands and teeth as much as the Medraas did.

Calling the venue an "arena" was really rather an overstatement. It was more like an over sized brawl hall. Tables full of beer and ale and liqueur surrounded the raised ring, and there was plenty of space for standing and waving ones arms and shouting -- all of which was part of the "sport".

At one side was a stage and a kind of throne where Kapteyn's "ruler" sat to watch the fun. The present "ruler" was Alister Jebez Black, whose reputation for being soaked with blood was almost equal to his lust for every female he'd ever laid his eyes on, and every coin he'd ever heard rumor of. In the galaxy's rather long list of "foul beasts" Black was way up there.

Case in point, the two bitter rivals now biting and clawing at each other in the ring were "his women". The blond, Sasha, had been Black's favorite for several years. Like all Medraas women who made it to the top of their rather improbable heaps, Sasha was pretty, smart, and charming. And underneath she was ruthless, unscrupulous, and totally amoral. She had one of, or perhaps the, largest information network in the Neutral Zone.

Her rival for the top spot in Black's bed was Mara Siles. Some said she wasn't a full blooded Medraas. If that were so, her behavior in the ring was in stark contrast to anything resembling civilized behavior. Unlike Sasha, Mara had worked her way to the top not by feeding her owner information, but by destroying everybody who stood in her path to the top. Misha had never been able to confirm it for sure, but rumor had it that Black's personal harem had shrunk by half since he'd purchased Mara's contract from Jackal's top dog Benson Jakes a little over a year ago.

Unfortunately for Mara, Sasha was a bit too bright to be taken down by such tactics. But Mara had finally managed to maneuver the two into a place where Black could not not deny Mara her request to have it out with Sasha one on one. Code speak for a cat fight. And since there was always money to be made when a powerful Medraas's "top cats" went at it, Black really wasn't motivated to say no anyway.

It was about that time that Misha entered the game. Win or lose, it was unlikely Sasha would retain her position with Black. If she lost, Mara would rightfully take her place. If she won, she would be so scarred and beat up Black would only tolerate her for as long as it took her to heal, then she'd be tossed aside at a fire sale price. So Misha had, through intermediaries, cut Sasha a deal. If she threw the fight the Athenians would make sure Mara wasn't allowed to kill her. They'd buy her contract from Black and give her sanctuary. Further, they had the means to make sure there were no lasting after effects of the fight -- medical technology beyond the Medraas. All she had to do was to maintain her information network and keep the information flowing. And of course, to not cross her new masters. The Athenians had a reputation for being much kinder than the Medraas, but also for having no patience with being double crossed.

But as Misha worked her way to the front she was beginning to wonder if Sasha was going to honor their bargain. The little blond was, at the moment working her dark haired rival over like a prize fighter. For all her wiry speed, Mara couldn't seem to stay clear of Sasha's punishing fists and raking nails. In a blistering salvo the little blond drove Mara clear into a corner with a hail of fists then worked her face over with her nails before backing off. Misha shuddered at the sight when Sasha finally stepped back to center ring. The Medraas had no comprehension of cosmetic or reconstructive surgery. Never again would the word "beauty" be used to describe Mara's face.

But the attack only seemed to enrage the brunette. Perhaps it was luck, perhaps it was skill, or perhaps Sasha now remembered her bargain. Whatever it was, Mara got a grip on Sasha's hair and used it to throw her rival to the mat. Then she was on her like a wild animal. Straddling the smaller woman, she pounded and wailed and bit and scratched relentlessly. It went on and on until even the crowd began to go silent at the wild rage pouring forth from the dark haired woman.

When the adrenalin finally burned out, Mara rolled off Sasha, gasping for breath. Surprisingly, Sasha was still able to roll over and, with the last of her strength, to crawl slowly away. The crowd didn't know what to make of it. Nervous cacophonous chatter rippled around the arena like children caught out stealing. Nobody knew what Black would say about the nearly total destruction of both his prize females.

"One thousand Imperial Denarii," Misha shouted over the tittering. It was time. With four words she'd stopped the fighting before Mara could recover enough to kill Sasha.

Black slowly rose to his feet. By tradition the right to buy any woman in the ring was open to all present, and was part of the fun. But daring to open an auction on top cats was, to say the least, audacious.

"Who speaks?" He demanded.

"Who asks?" Misha demanded, shoving a peasant cruelly aside to head toward the throne. This was no place to show kindess of any sort.

"You don't know who I am?" Black asked incredulously.

"Should I care?" Misha snorted. "I pay in Imperial Aurei, not Credits. If you own her, take the coin and give me the girl. If not, shut up and sit down so I can find her owner."

"What if I say it's not enough?" Black drawled dangerously.

"Then I'll put a bullet in you for breaking the rules of the Arena," Misha snapped. "Do I hear one thousand ten Denarii for the girl?" She shouted to the crowd. "Going once! Going twice... "

"Which girl?" Black interrupted. "I think we'd at least like to know that," he sneered.

"The one whose dying. The blond."

"And if she dies before you get her off this planet?"

"Did I ask for a warranty?" Misha snapped. "Is anybody else interested in bidding?" She yelled again.

Silence. But one of Black's body guards, a big brute with a sweaty looking and very bare chest starting moving toward her.

"Let me see your money," Black thrust his chin at her.

"Not until you agree to honor the auction price," Misha countered. "And if bozo gets any closer he's going to need a doctor," she thrust her masked chin at the thug.

Black chuckled.

Misha fired. The force of the GAUS pistol's dart sent all 250 pounds of the thug flying backwards into some chairs.

"You were warned," she said almost casually. "Now. Do we need more theatrics, or would you like to agree that I won the auction and inspect my money?" She held up a gold coin.

Black simply nodded.

She tossed him the coin and turned her attention to the ring and her new "property" -- such as it was. The med scanner confirmed what Misha already knew. Sasha had been badly hurt by Mara's protracted, and brutal attack. She would need the best physicians the Athenians had, and soon. But right now the most important thing was to get her out of here and back to the ship. The tiny med-lab and its computers could at least stabilize her -- Misha hoped.

"You owe me thirty-nine more of these," Black said ominously. "And I should charge you for killing my best body guard."

"Your stupidity is not my problem," Misha drawled. "I did warn you." "Speeder, now!" She whispered for the communicator's benefit as she fetched out the rest of the money and tossed it to him unceremoniously. With a high pitched whine a speeder roared over the walls of the arena and settled mere centimeters from the ground less than a meter away, scattering the crowd. "I hope you enjoy the gold as much as I'm going to enjoy your girl," she snorted, lifting Sasha into the passenger seat. "Good bye Black."

"You bastard!" Black roared, just now grasping that he'd been had. "I'll kill you, you bastard!" He roared over the revving up of the speeder's grav plates. "By Frigga's tits I'll kill you!"

Misha just chuckled as she roared away. He had no idea who she was, of course. Five minutes later she was docking the speeder aboard the courier. The bay doors closed after her. By the time she had Sasha laid out in the medical bay, bullets were bouncing off the hull. It must have taken them that long to figure which ship belonged to her, and in which docking bay it was parked.

"Launch!" She ordered through the com dots as she headed for the bridge. The computer ordered the engines off standby and in seconds the entire docking bay was filled with burning hydrogen as the craft lifted off. Those who hadn't made it through the blast doors in time were incinerated in seconds.

"Prepare a drone, launch tube one," she ordered, entering the bridge station. "Ship's course, two hundred seventy degrees, NOE. Fire drone at one thousand meters, blip enhancer activated, and shut down main engines."

As the computer dutiful followed her instructions she stripped out of her costume. At one thousand meters altitude the ship shuddered as drone torpedo was ejected from launch tube one. The blip enhancer immediately covered the ship, its own engines pushing it skyward. The courier, meanwhile, its main engines now shut off, fell like a rock. At fifty meters the grav plates kicked in and the ship shot off on a westerly course, hugging the surface of Kapteyn.

And so things remained for over thirty hours. Out off the edge of the continent, out over the ocean, until she was half way around the planet from the star base. Not only did it give Black's thugs something to ponder after discovering they'd been chasing a drone, it also gave her a day to assist the computerized medical system in keeping Sasha alive -- and to rest.

The girl's nose was broken, her jaw was broken in three places, half of her ribs were either broken outright or fractured, as was the sternum. Most of those issues the little courier's computer system and accompanying hardware could deal with. The internal hemorrhaging, however, was another matter. It took six hours of prodding by Misha for it to find ways of stopping enough of it to save the girl's life, and another two to convince it to abandon efforts at repairing the rest and simply to focus on keeping the patient alive, rather than letting her die while it dithered over details. Computers could be so stupid at times.

That left her over a day to eat and rest and recuperate before it was time to attempt her escape. Eating wasn't a problem. Resting, under the circumstances, was more problematic. After about thirty minutes of tossing and turning in her bunk, she finally gave up and retook her station on the bridge. Oddly, that allowed her to doze on and off as the numbers and angles and sensor readings scrolled by on the screen and on her data display headset, all on top of a view of the surface of Kapteyn's ocean whizzing by at 190 kph, mere meters below her.

Day turned to night, which allowed her to doze off for even longer periods; then night turned to day again. Finally she opted for some breakfast and to check in on Sasha. The med computer had finally decided to put her into a semi-static state. A solution Misha had thought of before she'd even brought her aboard. But arguing with an AI computer was a lot like arguing with a post. It had to come to its own conclusions in its own good time.

She was just about to return to the bridge when the ship's navigation computer sounded the alarm that said they were approaching the take-off point. Knowing what was next it brought the ship's engines back on line and began the warm-up process; the navigational system brought up its charts of the system and began computing the warp line through the planet's asteroid field to the outer perimeter of the inner planetoid belt; the warp system went into self test mode. By the time they reach the launch point, all the boards showed green.

Up until now Misha had been flying "invisible". By flying at the nap of earth on grav plates she had lowered her ship's signature below that of the surrounding planetary "noise". Once the main engines came on line and she began her burn into orbit she would radiate like the sun. Every heat sensor within line of sight, and that included those in orbit, would immediately fix on her.

The question was, if Black was still angry, would his fighters be close enough to catch her before she could break free enough of the planet to raise a warp field. Doing so while barely free of the atmosphere was considered extremely dangerous. Without fail the adjacent planet would "throw" the ship. Then, every object within its gravitational barycenter would add its little twist to the throw -- assuming you didn't hit said object first (which happened far to regularly for comfort). Factor in the minor detail that Kapteyn had several dozen asteroids floating around it and she was not very thrilled with the odds of success. On the other hand, one tiny courier couldn't take on an entire Medraas fleet. Some things were highly dangerous. Others were pure suicide.

"Five, four, three, two, one..." Misha brought the courier's nose up and yarded back on the throttle just as the computer announce "zero" and the ship leaped from the surface of the ocean like a rocket. The grav plates shut down automatically. The ship was now sending a heat signature into the sky that was as hot as any star as it raced for freedom.

"Time to orbit, twenty minutes," The computer reported. And all the while every resource Black had at his disposal was probably zeroing in on her. But there was nothing to be done for it. Either he'd guessed right, and she'd never make it, or she'd confused them long enough to gain at least a razor's edge. And a razor's edge -- and a bit of luck -- was all she really needed.

"Patient is conscious," the med computer reported.

"Then put her back to sleep," Misha nearly yelled. "I'm a little busy here!" Like it mattered to a pile of silicone.

"Patient wishes to speak to Misha." Who started swearing in three different languages at once.

"Computer, fucking drive." She tossed her display headset onto the console and headed for the medical cubical, several alarms going off at once behind her. Of course! She snorted.

Sasha looked a bit better, but the readouts on the displays in the cubical told another, graver story. It was going to be every bit as rough a ride for her as it was for their ship.

"You're looking better than when I found you," Misha smiled, trying to smooth out the tension lines creasing her forehead.

"Ph--phank you... phor safing me," Sasha chewed out through her broken jaw and swollen lips. "Phut.. I'ph dying... aren'ph I?"

Misha didn't have it in her to lie to the girl. "I hope not. But it's possible. I've got to get you back to the Phoenix as fast as I can. Black's making that difficult."

"Ph---phen I muph... phell you... abouph pha.. pha phrincess..."